


Corruption

by grim_lupine



Category: Good Omens
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-23
Updated: 2009-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grim_lupine/pseuds/grim_lupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pollution does not sleep and thus does not dream, but if he did, he would dream of stripping the suit and the neatness from Famine like peeling the skin off a fruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corruption

-

\--

Famine is fastidious. Pollution whispers these words to himself, laughs dreamily at the alliteration, consonants and vowels flowing from his lips like thick mud.

Famine is fastidious, wears his ink-black beard cropped close and neat. He dresses in black suits, slim and long with clean lines, and his hands are smooth and deft. He prefers not to deal in mess; he leaves his mark in protruding cheekbones and hollow faces, and the stabbing, unseen pains in empty stomachs.

Pollution wants to defile the _world_. He sees rolling, glass-clear seas and thinks about the rainbow-slick spread of oil on its surface. He wants to see rising piles of sickening fish and fowl, curling plastic blowing around in the smog-thick wind. He wants beauty to turn to grimy dust in his hands.

Pollution does not sleep and thus does not dream, but if he did, he would dream of stripping the suit and the neatness from Famine like peeling the skin off a fruit. He would dream of bracketing those fine-boned hips with his thin hands, leaving gleaming trails of oil in their wake, tainting and warping and dirtying—if he were to dream this, he knows how he would wake: with panting breath, with shaking limbs, with a rapid-fire heartbeat at the delightful thought of twisting Famine, cool and untouchable, into something — _polluted_.

The wriggling, wrong-edged glee these thoughts fill him with is something meant to be shared; he sees no reason to keep it to himself.

“I want to see you bare and bruised and oil-slick,” he breathes into Famine’s ear, filthy and slow. “I want to cut you and bleed you and mark you until you carry me _all over_ you.”

The look Famine levels his way is long, cool. Emotionless.

His pale hands encircle Pollution’s arms with bruising strength; his kiss is more a bite than anything else, a viper’s sweetly poisonous touch. Pollution drinks it in, takes it into himself with parted gleaming lips and eager gasps. His nails leave fiery red lines in their wake, crossing the smooth canvas of Famine’s skin.

Famine bears them down to the ground, holds Pollution’s thin wrists above his head with one hand. Looks him all over with a dark-eyed gaze, taunting and heated all at once. Pollution bares his teeth, writhes beneath Famine’s immovable weight. Famine holds him down with his eyes and his body, strokes the inside of Pollution’s wrist with his thumbnail. He makes no move to touch him anywhere else.

Pollution grits his teeth. He _wants_ , he _wants_ —it’s a tumultuous flood rolling the length of his body, this need he has, and Famine _will not_ give him what he’s aching for; he just stares with amused, superior eyes as Pollution shakes in this inexplicable— _hunger_.

Hunger.

Pollution’s breath hitches. He looks at Famine, who smiles, and tightens his hand around Pollution’s wrists, and murmurs, “There is more than one kind of famine.”

He leans forward and whispers into Pollution’s ear, “My dear Pollution—you wish to leave your indelible mark on me. Did you never _consider_ I might want the same?”

He is still laughing richly when Pollution bites his mouth, vicious; Pollution feels that infuriating laughter scrape down his spine, take hold of him, set his acid-rain, oil-thick, dirty black _hungry_ blood on _fire_.

\--

-


End file.
